


Off the Rails, on the Right Track

by theonsfavouritetoy



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU - Modern, First Meeting, M/M, train drive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-30 09:38:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13948845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonsfavouritetoy/pseuds/theonsfavouritetoy
Summary: Outside it has started to rain. Theon lets his eyes follow the path the water drops take along the length of the window, forming bizarre patterns on the glass. It looks like it's weeping and Theon smiles to himself at the absurd thought.





	Off the Rails, on the Right Track

**Author's Note:**

> A mini fic! Because I can't not write any greysnow for longer than a second it seems. 
> 
> A huge thanks to @lagardère for the awesome prompt and your beta help! <3

“Is this seat taken?”

The husky voice rips Theon out of his thoughts. He barely looks at the cause of disruption, only lifts his bag from the scuffed seat next to him with a heavy sigh and places it between his feet.

“Thank you,” the culprit mutters before settling down with a lot of shuffling and elbowing.

Theon closes his eyes and lets his head tilt sideways, until it’s pressed against the cold, smeared glass. It’s dark outside and he can’t see the landscape flying past, but he knows what’s out there even so.

Rolling green hillsides, quaint and pastoral, dotted with sheep and the odd picturesque cottage every now and then. Not the landscape he was born in, neither the one he grew up with.

It would be nice, to stop here for a couple of days, rent one of those cottages and tell the world to go fuck itself. Not an option unfortunately. He’s taking the train until its final destination, all the way to the capital.

A soft noise at his side catches Theon’s attention and he looks over, feeling a faint hint of curiosity now. The nuisance has apparently fallen asleep, his head has fallen back and his mouth is hanging open slightly.

It’s a pretty mouth, Theon notes casually, full lips of a soft pink, forming a round little o. From there he lets his gaze wander up, taking in the rest of this tired guy’s face, over a strong nose with a rounded tip and cleanly shaved cheeks - contrary to his stubbly chin - and up to the closed eyes.

Theon wrinkles his nose. Eyelashes like a girl’s, thick and black and lush. He’ll have dark eyes, Theon thinks. Brown or black. All in all a really pretty face, framed by a mass of tangled black curls. One of them is hanging over his forehead, lined with tired creases, and it sways with every breath the man takes, getting dangerously close to his open mouth.

Without thinking Theon strokes it back. It has the man twitch and mumble something, and Theon snatches his hand back as if he’d been bitten. Great, now he’s fondling strangers on trains. Theon curses inwardly, himself, the fact that he’s been out of the game for way too long now, the temptation softly snoring at his side.

Resolutely he turns his face back to the window, folds his hands in his lap and starts staring at a greasy stain, vaguely mouth shaped. Maybe some kid has pressed their wet snout against the glass, eliciting horrified shouts from a parent.

A jolt going through Mr. Cute Guy has Theon close his eyes hurriedly. The man starts fishing around in his pockets, elbowing Theon again a couple of times. He doesn’t mind so much now. It’s been a long time since he’s had any human contact, stroke or punch.

“Hello? Hi. Yes, I caught it. Some time in the early morning, don’t worry, I’ll make it in time. Yes, I remember.”

The man’s voice sounds even huskier now, heavy with sleep. He sighs deeply and Theon squeezes his eyes shut more tightly.

“Steel Street, Flea Bottom. There, I know it. I have no doubt you’ll be loud enough that I’ll be able to hear you all the way to the train station. Yes - yes. Hey, can we talk about that when I arrive? I haven’t slept in, like, two days, and I still have six hours ahead of me. Yes, right back at you.”

The man tucks his phone away again and settles back in his seat. Theon waits a minute, two, before the snoring starts anew and he deems it safe to open his eyes.

Outside it has started to rain. Theon lets his eyes follow the path the water drops take along the length of the window, forming bizarre patterns on the glass. It looks like it's weeping and Theon smiles to himself at the absurd thought.

A shuffle to his side has him look up. The man is still sleeping, but has turned slightly so that he’s facing Theon, mouth closed now, brow furrowed. Seems like he’s not having the most relaxing nap.

It’s irritating, how much he’s intrigued by some random stranger. Theon has never exactly been interested in people. Sure, he’s always been of a curious sort, but that doesn’t justify his inability to look away from someone he sees for the first time and probably never will again.

Theon forces his gaze back to the window when suddenly the man’s head starts to slide sideways until it comes to lie on Theon’s shoulder. He sits stock still, back rigid in consternation, waiting for the man to jolt back up and mumble some embarrassed apology.

This isn’t what happens. On the contrary, the man snuggles up against Theon’s side, burrowing his face into his neck. His warm breath washes over Theon’s skin, making goosebumps prickle in its wake.

He should push him away. Now. Should give him a hard glare and pretend he’s not existing for the rest of the train drive. The man’s voice, his words from before, echo in Theon’s mind.

_“I haven’t slept in, like, two days.”_

It’d be outright nasty to wake him, really. And then, if Theon were to do it, they’d still have that long, awkward ride stretching out ahead of them. Better to let him sleep for now, he reasons, and when he starts to wake up by himself Theon can pretend to be asleep as well.

It’s not even uncomfortable, not at all. Not the warm huffs, not the curls tickling his skin, not the pressure of soft lips brushing the side of his neck. The old Theon would think about nothing else but how to get this man into bed with him.

He would try out some cheesy lines in his head, like, hey sleeping beauty or some other fucking nonsense. Would charm him in any way possible, would seduce him with looks and casual touches, would take him to a hotel room right at the station.

Or wank him off right here and now on the train. Decency didn’t use to be a word in Theon’s vocabulary, back in the good old days of yesteryore.

Alas, the old Theon is a lifetime away and the new Theon’s thoughts take an entirely different path. He imagines the two of them being here together, going wherever this man is going, to see whoever is waiting for him. Only they would then be waiting for _them_.

Snow White, Theon thinks. That’s what he’ll call him, seeing as he’ll never know his real name. Hair, skin, lips, it’s satisfyingly fitting. Snow White uses this moment to open his mouth again and mumble something.

It sends shivers down Theon’s spine, and for once he’s glad things are not like they used to be. The only thing more embarrassing than the current situation would be Snow White waking up to a stranger with a raging hard on.

If they were here together, Theon muses, and Snow White didn’t have somewhere to be, maybe he’d come with him to that bloody appointment and watch Theon agree to the fucking settlement, for a rather large sum of compensation money.

And afterwards they could go for a bite to eat, or just do nothing, glad that things are finally over and done with. They would speak of the future, of all the things they could do with the money. Most of the time Theon thinks of burning it.

It’s not as if it could give back what was stolen from him. His easy smile, his self confidence, his bloody body mechanics for fuck’s sake.Well, maybe it can pay for the therapy, although he’s still not convinced it’ll work. He hasn’t been able to get it up for over a year now.

Snow White is shifting a bit, cuddling up even closer. One of his hands has snaked its way onto Theon’s chest, as if he were a giant teddy bear. Theon smiles when he imagines Snow White as a kid, clutching a large plush toy in his arms. With that hair he must’ve looked like a girl.

Really, it’s pathetic how much he enjoys it, this closeness to a random, albeit pretty stranger. But the new Theon has learned to live with being pathetic by now, so what the hell.

Slowly, careful not to disturb Snow White’s sleep, Theon gets his phone out. It’s not easy, maneuvering it around with one hand, the other being trapped at his side, but he manages to bring the phone in position.

After a couple unsuccessful tries he’s finally satisfied with a pic. What he took it for Theon has no idea. Post it on social media to brag about himself cuddling a cute guy to his non-existent friends? Or rather, print it out and put it on the fridge as a reminder of his own idiocy.

Still four more hours until they arrive in King’s Landing. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to take a nap as well. To his surprise he feels his body relaxing almost immediately and he drifts off, his head coming to rest on Snow White’s.

“Coffee?”

Theon frowns, then blinks. There’s a steaming plastic cup hovering in front of his face. He turns his head, looking straight into Snow White’s amused face. Brown eyes, Theon notes. A warm colour, deep.

Reluctantly Theon tears his gaze away, looking outside. They’re already driving through the suburbs of King’s Landing. Fuck. He doesn’t want to get off, doesn’t want to go shake hands with Roose Bolton and his fucking lawyer.

“No coffee?”

Snow White has started to frown at Theon’s lack of reaction, and he curses himself while taking the offered cup. He smiles at Snow White, slightly awkward, but a smile all the same.

“Thanks.”

He takes a sip, pondering what else he could say. His mind is drawing a blank and before he can get himself together the train drives into the station and Snow White gets up, fishing his bag out of the overhead bin. He seems to hesitate for a moment, looking down at Theon with something like nervousness.

“Enjoy your coffee,” he finally says before leaving.

The train stops and Theon’s brain starts working again. When he’s made it outside he lets his gaze wander. Unsurprisingly, Snow White is nowhere to be seen. Theon sighs, draining the cup he’s still holding in one go, and looks for a trash can to throw it in.

There’s none in sight, probably courtesy of the recently attempted terror attacks in the city, where some idiots had placed bombs in trash cans all around King’s Landing. None of them had worked but the incident had still freaked everyone out.

Theon twists and turns the cup in his hands, when suddenly he catches sight of a tiny scribble on one side. He brings it close to his face and reads,

 _You make a good pillow. Sorry for drooling on your sweater, I’m just_ ~~_disappointed_ ~~ _glad I didn't accidentally give you a hickey._

Beneath that, a phone number and a last line.

_My name is Jon._

Theon saves the number into his phone. He looks at his watch. One and a half hour until his appointment. Approximately two hours until he’s free. Fuck it. What’s the worst that could happen to him? It already has. He shrugs and starts to write a text.

_Seems like I owe you a coffee. What are you doing in three hours?_

The answer follows immediately.

_Explaining to my sister why I’m leaving the launch party for her boyfriend’s new shop to drink coffee with a stranger._

Theon smiles, his thumb racing over the screen.

_About that hickey..._


End file.
